


What's Left

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes to him when he needs to feel</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left

When Dean knocked on his door, Cass laid his joint aside and gave him a glassy-eyed, hazy smile. "Dean. It's so good of you to drop in."  
  
"Yeah, whatever." Green eyes swept the room before settling on him, disgust and self-loathing flickering across his face as he stepped inside. "Anybody else here?"  
  
So it was going to be one of  _those_  visits, then. Cass sighed and got to his feet, cracking his neck before he replied. "No, it's just us."  
  
Dean nodded and walked past him, going into the bedroom without another word. Cass stripped his overshirt off and picked up the joint, pulling deeply on it, holding it in while he pulled his T-shirt off. He followed Dean into the bedroom, where he was already naked and kneeling on the pile of blankets that passed for a bed. "Are you ready?" Smoke curled out of his mouth as he spoke, plumes that made him feel like a dragon or some other elder creature. Cass liked smoking; it made him feel strong and powerful, reminded him of when he'd been someone to be feared rather than mocked or pitied.  
  
"Already prepped." Of course he was. He always was whenever he came to Cass these days. "Just get on with it, okay?"  
  
"I live to serve," Cass replied, reaching down to undo his belt and pull it free. He tossed it onto the bed by Dean, who dropped forward onto all fours. The belt's gleaming leather coils caught his attention, and Cass reached for it before he even opened his jeans, hand stroking over it like he might pet a snake that had wandered into his bed. It felt a lot like a snake, cool and smooth and deadly, and he giggled softly at the idea of wearing a snake around his waist without realizing it until now.  
  
Dean shot him an irritated glare over his shoulder. "Jesus, Cass. If you're too wasted to do this, just say so. Otherwise, let's go. I don't have all night, you know."  
  
For half a second, Cass considered kicking him out, claiming he was too high to get it up, but he doubted Dean would buy that. He'd just suck him hard, then bitch about it until he left, and that would  _definitely_  harsh the nice buzz he had going. Popping his jeans open and reaching inside to wrap one hand around his half-hard dick, Cass eased himself out and stroked himself to a full erection, then knelt behind Dean, reaching down to position himself.  
  
He didn't bother with any teasing, didn't check to make sure he was open, just pressed the tip of his cock against Dean's hole and shoved his way in. Dean grunted and shoved back against him, a move that used to be all about eagerness to have Cass inside, but these days was more about impatience than anything else. Cass put a hand on his hip to steady him while he picked the belt up and brought the doubled length down on his ass, listening to the crack of leather against skin as he did it again.  
  
"Cass," Dean hissed, shifting on his hands and knees. "Quit fucking around and do it." He was probably the only person on the planet who could manage to sound annoyed when he was about to get fucked within an inch of his life.  
  
Cass didn't bother to answer him, just took the belt in both hands, looped it around Dean's neck and pulled it tight. The sudden jerk brought Dean up on his knees, coughing against the restraint, but Cass didn't let go. This was how it had to be, how Dean needed it - swift and brutal, no signs of caring or affection allowed. He kept a tight grip on the belt as he started to fuck into Dean with sharp snaps of his hips that jarred them both. It was mechanical, less about pleasure than punishment for the both of them, and Cass set a hard pace, shoving up into Dean without care while he kept the belt stretched taut.  
  
He could feel Dean start to struggle as his air ran low, felt his nails bite into his forearm as he clawed at him, and it was that very desperation, the sign that somewhere inside Dean lived the soul that Cass had once raised from Hell itself, that took him over the edge. His orgasm was anything but satisfying, but from the choked cry that Dean released, it was enough to do the job, because he felt Dean shudder as he came as well. Cass kept the belt tight through it all, slowly releasing him before he could pass out, more because he wanted Dean to leave as soon as possible than out of any real concern for him.  
  
When he saw Dean's shoulders stiffen again, he tossed the belt to the side and pulled out, not bothering to fasten his pants as he walked into the common room to retrieve his joint. The nice mellow feeling was gone, however, lost in the fury that welled up inside him. He hated this, hated that Dean came to him to relieve his guilt and pain, hated even more that he couldn't turn him away. He'd never been able to deny him anything, and he wasn't sure who hated more for that, Dean or himself. Or Lucifer, his arrogant son of a bitch brother who'd set this whole thing in motion. Yes, that was better; it was Lucifer's fault. If it wasn't his, then Cass didn't have to do anything about it.  
  
Crushing the joint out, Cass rummaged around behind the chair, pulling out a bottle of vodka, which he uncapped and took a swig. Two of his favorite pills went down easier with another mouthful, and he wondered if he should take a few more, see how many it would take to finally finish the whole thing off, but he was too much of a coward to do it himself. Dean walked out while he was on his third swallow, and Cass saluted him with the bottle.  
  
"You ever planning on being sober again?" Dean asked, frowning at him as he took another drink.  
  
"Not if I can help it." Cass capped the bottle and tossed it into the chair, zipping up as he turned to look at him. "Unless this is your way of saying you're cutting me off."  
  
"I should." But he wouldn't, and they both knew it. Dean didn't want Cass sober, not really. He was easier to manage this way, easier to command, easier to ignore. "Just try to go easy on 'em, okay? You might actually have to make a run with me one of these days."  
  
Cass caught the bottle Dean tossed him one-handed and shoved it into his pocket without looking at it. "Of course. Just let me know when you want me to go and I'll be glad to do it," he lied, the words rolling easily off his tongue. Hard to believe he'd ever had trouble with that.  
  
Dean didn't answer him, just walked past and let the door slam closed as he left. Cass shook his head and headed back into the bedroom to pile another blanket on his bed. It was easier than changing sheets or doing laundry, and the pills were starting to hit him hard enough that a soft surface would be a welcome thing. He swore under his breath, cursing Dean for trying to pretend he cared about Cass not being sober. It was too much like how things used to be, back before Detroit, before Lucifer took one of the Winchesters and destroyed the other. Dean hadn't really cared about anything except his war effort in years, and he wasn't about to start now. Besides, Cass thought, as he sank down onto his makeshift bed, it wasn't like he couldn't quit anytime he wanted to - he just didn't want to. Not now, anyway. Maybe tomorrow...


End file.
